


Whumptober 2020

by MorganaGreenleaf



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: After Bastille, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), Aziraphale to the Rescue (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BBC Merlin references, Beating, Broken Bones, Carrying, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Whump, Crowley Whump (Good Omens), Crowley is Summoned (Good Omens), Day 10: They Look So Pretty When They Bleed, Day 11: Psych 101, Day 12: I Think I've Broken Something, Day 1: Let's Hang Out Sometime, Day 2, Day 3, Day 4, Day 5: Where Do You Think You're Going?, Day 7: I've Got You, Day 9: For the Greater Good, Enemy to Caretaker, Gabriel is a dick, Held at Gunpoint, Hell, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Major character death - Freeform, Minor Violence, Minor whump, My lot don't send rude notes, Rescue, Self-Sacrificing Crowley (Good Omens), Sorry?, Support, The Fall (Good Omens), Tiny Bit of Whump, Whump, Whumptober 2020, after the armagedidn't, and some priest who i made up, aziraphale stuffs up, bit of whump, broken down, broken trust, crowley is not happy with aziraphale, dark spaces, forced to their knees, hastur is a dick, heaven has crowley, hell tortures Crowley, lots of blood (loss), manhandled, mysterious unknown demon, ouchy, set about 3 000 BCE, the tadfield air base
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26910067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganaGreenleaf/pseuds/MorganaGreenleaf
Summary: A series of oneshots based off @/whumptober2020 's prompts(Tumblr)Mostly Aziraphale & Crowley, almost no slash, depending on how you read itIt's all Good Omens (pretty much just Ineffable Husbands getting whumped) although there will by one day with another fandom
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21
Collections: My Lot Don't Send Rude Notes, Whumptober 2020





	1. Let's Hang Out Sometime

**Author's Note:**

> So the each day is in the tags, followed by the tags that apply to that day
> 
> I started this a bit late, because I had no wifi, but I'm going to try and catch up

WAKING UP RESTRAINED | SHACKLED | HANGING

In hindsight, Crowley could see he should have known that his rescue of Aziraphale from the Bastille wouldn’t have gone unnoticed. And it wasn’t like it wasn’t within his abilities to disguise himself and Aziraphale. But he hadn’t thought, hadn’t taken that precaution. And now he was paying for it.

He blinked awake in a dark, dingy room, shackles digging into his wrists, ankles and neck, keeping him in a kneeling position on the stone floor, right against the wall. It only took a couple of seconds for his eyes to adjust (one of the few perks of being a demon), and he saw he was the only one in there.

However, he could see that there was an iron table in the centre of the room, with loops along the edge.

His stomach dropped.

He knew what this was.

* * *

It was several hours before Hastur entered the room, followed by Ligur, and two other low-ranking demons. Ligur smirked at Crowley, kneeling in a prone position, but the other two demons, who Crowley now remembered were called Obb and Nobb, untethered Crowley from the wall, and dragged him over to the table, forcing him to lie down on it, before attaching his chains to the loops. Obb lit a fire on a brazier, and pushed it under the table.

“Dismissed,” Hastur grunted, and Obb and Nobb left the room, locking the door loudly behind them.

Ligur pulled a pair of pokers from nowhere, and set them in the brazier.

“Crawly the demon,” Hastur began, pausing to remove Crowley’s sunglasses, and crush them under his foot. Crowley winced, and turned away as best he could. “You were seen by Ligur here leaving the Bastille in the company of the Principality Aziraphale, Heaven’s agent on Earth. Ligur’s enquiries with guards and prisoners of the Bastille testify that you were aiding the angel. Stopping him from getting discorporated. His discorporation would have made it much easier for us to secure souls. And for that, you must be punished.”

“Wait-wait a second,” Crowley said, his voice rising slightly, “What’s wrong with helping an angel?”

“How long have you got?” Ligur grumbled.

“That Aziraphale idiot’s as gullible as they come,” Crowley explained, “I’m lulling him into a false sense of security. Yes. That’s it. He tries to believe the best of everyone, even me!”  
  


Hastur looked at Crowley disbelievingly. “What does that achieve?”

“Think of it, Hastur! I’m turning him to our side. Tempting him! Trying to get him to sin. And eventually, Fall. That’s way better than any human soul.”

“Be that as it may, Crawly,” Hastur said, “You were fraternising with an angel. You _helped_ him. And we can’t let that slip by. So let this be a lesson to you. Leave the angel alone. _You_ won’t be able to tempt him to Fall.”

Ligur pulled a pair of glowing iron pokers from the brazier, and handed one to Hasur.

“I’ll enjoy this,” Hastur said, and they beat Crowley’s legs until they were nothing but a mangled pulp.


	2. Day 2: In the Hands of the Enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry?
> 
> tags apply come after day 2

### “PICK WHO DIES” | COLLARS | KIDNAPPED

Crowley and Aziraphale were escorted separately to Heaven. Aziraphale was treated a bit gentler, as he was still technically an angel. A dozen angels surrounded him, and he didn’t fight, at least until they started attacking Crowley, but by then, they’d managed to lock thick manacles around his wrists, slip a blindfold over his eyes, before pulling him into Heaven’s Gate. They marched him down the corridors of Heaven, into the main throne room, pushed him to his knees, and then removed the blindfold.

Crowley, on the other hand, was beaten cruelly into the dirt by at least twenty angels, spiked shackles forced around his wrists and ankles, and a matching collar round his neck. They weren’t done there, however. They forced him into a tiny iron box, shoved a wad of foul-tasting fabric into his mouth, and tied a blindfold over his eyes.

When the angels pulled him out of the box in Heaven’s throne room, and pushed him to the floor about ten metres away from Aziraphale, Aziraphale immediately sprang up to go over to him, but was shoved roughly back by Sandalphon.

“Stay,” he ordered. Aziraphale watched Crowley’s head, still blindfolded, turn in the direction of Sandalphon’s voice. The angels chained Crowley to an anchor on the floor, and then stepped back.

Gabriel stood from where he’d been sitting on a throne, and strode over to Aziraphale. “We couldn’t let you two get away with stopping Armageddon. So we have come to an agreement with Hell.” A look of distaste crossed his face.

“One of you will die. You may have gotten away with it last time, but this time, we will not rest until one of you dies. And in the meantime, we will make your life so horrible you will wish for death. You will beg for death before the end.”

Crowley began to make strangled grunting noises, and part of the fabric poked out of his mouth.

“The other will live to spread the message. Do not mess with the Great Plan. Do not mess with the Ineffable Plan. Do not mess with Heaven. We will, however, offer you the mercy of choosing which one of you dies.”

Aziraphale knew that this was the opposite of mercy, and judging by the smirk of Gabriel’s face, he knew it too. However, while he was thinking that through, Crowley managed to spit the cloth out and yell:

“Kill me! Don’t touch Aziraphale! Take me!”

“No!” Aziraphale yelled, standing again, but Sandalphon forced him down once again, and this time held a burning sword (that Aziraphale recognised as his own) to his throat.

“Too late,” Gabriel said. He walked over to Crowley, and pulled the blindfold off. Crowley stared up at him defiantly, no fear showing his face.

“Retry the holy water first,” Gabriel ordered.

Two angels brought pitchers of holy water over, and handed one to Gabriel.

Crowley turned to Aziraphale.

“I’m sorry, Zira. But you deserve life. I don’t.”

“No! Crowley!” Aziraphale yelled, dodging around the sword, and fighting against Sandalphon. Sandalphon shoved him against the wall, still fighting.

Kneeling calmly on the floor, Crowley held eyes with Aziraphale, as Gabriel raised the pitcher over his head.

“It’s okay, Zira,” he whispered, as the water splashed over his head.


	3. Day 3: My Way or the Highway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> set just after the soldiers surround adam & co at the airbase
> 
> doesn't fit in very well but oh well

### MANHANDLED | FORCED TO THEIR KNEES | HELD AT GUNPOINT

Fortunately, the soldiers hadn’t shot Adam or his friends. Unfortunately, that had shot Crowley and Aziraphale. Aziraphale had managed to miracle away Sergeant Shadwell and Madame Tracy, and Adam had probably saved himself and his friends. But maybe his powers worked a little slower on supernatural entities, because just before they teleported away, scores of bullets had hit them in the legs.

The soldiers wanted them alive, that much was clear.

Crowley sat alone in his small, concrete cells, watching the seconds to doomsday tick down on his watch.

Which oddly, they hadn’t confiscated, unlike most of his clothes, his shoes, and his sunglasses. The soldiers gasped in horror when his yellow eyes were revealed, so he supposed he’d be the first they questioned.

He was right. They dragged him into another concrete room, with no blood anywhere, or signs of Aziraphale being led away. One good sign. They forced him into a chair and handcuffed his hands behind his back, looping them through a bar on the back of the chair.

A woman who looked like their commander entered, and eyed Crowley suspiciously.

“What’s up with your eyes?” she asked.

“Birth defect,” Crowley answered immediately, looking at the floor.

The commander snorted. “I could torture you,” she said softly, pulling his shirt away, revealing dozens of scars coating his chest. “But something tells me that’s not going to be very effective. So I’m trying a different tactic.”

“What?” Crowley asked, confused.

His question was soon answered when two soldiers marched Aziraphale into the room, hands cuffed behind his back, and forced him into a kneeling position in front of Crowley.

“No!”

“Yes,” said the commander. She pulled a small gun out of her pocket, cocked it, and then pointed it directly at Aziraphale’s head. “You may be able to heal from shots to the legs, but I doubt you’ll survive a quick one to the brain. No time to heal, you see. Dead immediately.”

“I assure you, madam,” said Aziraphale from his spot on the floor, “We did not mean to come to the base. We were following some young children. And we _certainly_ have no idea what you mean by healing. Your shots missed.”

A guard snorted. “There was blood everywhere.”

“Silence,” the commander ordered, “You, (she pointed at Crowley) tell me the truth.”

“We um, come from, um, rival gangs,” said Crowley wildly, and Aziraphale nodded, “born into it, you see. And they were going to have this big showdown. Anyway, those kids, were, um, two from each gang, coming here to get weapons. And we were trying to stop them. And ended up here. So yeah. Now let Aziraphale go.”

“I don’t believe a word of what you just said,” said the commander. She picked Aziraphale up by the throat and forced him against the wall. “Last chance.”

Now, Crowley was one of the few demons who could turn into animals. In his case, it was a snake. And the soldiers didn’t know that.

So when he turned into his snake form, they were frozen in fear, and then when he was done with them, they were unconscious on the floor. He shifted back, unlocked Aziraphale’s handcuffs, and went to find his clothes, particularly his sunglasses, but Aziraphale grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t,” he whispered, breathless, “That’s what saved us today.”

“Come on, then!” said Crowley, “we’ve got a world to save.”


	4. Running Out Of Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my extremely atheist dad I know nothing about religion so sorry if this (and any of the other oneshots) make no sense on that front

CAGED | BURIED ALIVE | COLLAPSED BUILDING

Crowley was used to being summoned, but it was a pain in the arse when people did it accidentally. It was an even bigger pain in the arse when they did it in a church.

This group did it in a church. This group also did something no others did before: they locked him in a cage.

Usually, people just wanted him to curse their enemies, or get a promotion or some money for them, but this was something else. The moment he appeared, they grabbed him, chained his wrists behind his back with blessed manacles, shoved a gag in his mouth, and locked him in a tiny cage made of blessed metal. Crowley squirmed as he tried to limit the amount of contact he had with blessed objects, but this proved impossible. Eventually he settled for crouching, and glaring at his captors.

“Demon, we have summoned you here today to help you heal. You may fight against us at first, but in the end, you will thank us,” the one at the front announced, “We are the _Irrumator Praetor,_ and it is our sacred task to convert demons back to angels. To redeem them.”

Crowley tried to say something, but it was muffled by the gag. The man at the front, who Crowley assumed was their leader, glared at him. The _Irrumator Praetor_ each picked up a small basin, and Crowley knew immediately what was inside them. He knew what ritual they were going to try on him. He also knew it didn’t work.

Which meant he was utterly screwed.

The _Irrumator Praetor_ formed a tight circle around him, and began flicking him with holy water from their basins. He screamed against the gag and thrashed around on the floor.

“Pain is the first step to forgiveness,” the leader said. Crowley snorted, and shot him an evil look, as best he could with blood running into his eyes.

They began chanting some sort of hymn, and kept flicking him. This only made it worse, and his throat grew hoarse.

“It’s not working,” one of them said, “it’s not touching him.”

“He should be weak enough now that we don’t need the cage,” said the leader, but he also made a salt line around the cage. Two others dragged Crowley out, and stripped him of all his clothes.

“Very holy and good of you,” Crowley tried to say. And although it came out as a series of grunts, the leader seemed to get the gist.

“You are just a pathetic, low demon,” he hissed, “So you don’t deserve modesty.”

They resumed their flicking and chanting, and Crowley’s skin was beginning to peel away. His back and feet were already covered in blisters from where he’d been lying and standing on the floor. He was inches from discorporation when a white light appeared, and BANG! all the people fell to the ground, dead. 

Aziraphale stepped out of the light, and immediately picked him up and ran outside the church. The moment they left consecrated ground, Aziraphale placed him carefully on the ground, and quickly unlocked the chains.

“Let’s get back to the bookshop,” Aziraphale said, holding out a hand to lift Crowley again. 

Crowley coughed. “Angel,” he managed to whisper, “Clothes.”

“Oh! Right! Yes! Sorry,” Aziraphale exclaimed, visibly flustered. A looser, cool version of Crowley’s usual attire appeared on his body. He took Aziraphale’s hand, and Aziraphale carried him, bridal style, back to the shop, which was thankfully only a couple of kilometres away. 

When they arrived, Aziraphale pushed the door open with his shoulder, and laid Crowley gently on the lounge. Crowley groaned, and Aziraphale turned him onto his stomach, to minimise the pain.

“Since your burns came from a holy place, my miracles won’t work,” Aziraphale sighed, “So it’s human healing for you, at least until you’re strong enough to do it yourself.”

Crowley grunted, and Aziraphale miracled up a first aid kit. Carefully following the instructions, he cleaned and dressed Crowley’s wounds. When he was finished, he stood to go and get Crowley a glass of water, but Crowley grabbed his wrist.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Not at all, my dear,” said Aziraphale, “Any time you need my help, I’ll be there.”

Crowley smiled, then his head fell forwards, and he fell asleep. Aziraphale knew that was how Crowley healed faster, so he left him to it. After, of course, he set up every ward possible, to stop it from ever happening again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> irrumator praetor is latin
> 
> I'd recommend looking up the translation if you don't already know


	5. Day 5: Where Do You Think You're Going?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> putting 'he' in italics was annoying but I needed some way to differentiate between and normal he pronoun and the mysterious he

### ON THE RUN | FAILED ESCAPE | RESCUE

Crowley was off in Northern Ireland, handling a tempting, and Aziraphale was miles away right down in Southern England. Instead of his usual blessing, Aziraphale had to rescue a priest who’d been kidnapped for some unknown reason. So far, he’d managed to track them down to a small brick cottage at the end of the lane. Thinking it a simple operation, with the help of a few miracles, he knocked on the door, with the intention of talking the kidnappers out of it. However, when he opened the door, two demons stood there, with dark void-pits for eyes, each holding a burning torch, of which he assumed was hellfire.

“Hello there, fellows,” Aziraphale said, smiling nervously, “ I’m just here to pick up a priest, hopefully we can come to an agreement?”

“Inside,” said one demon, pointing. Mentally kicking himself, Aziraphale went inside, and into the main room. In one corner the priest he was supposed to be rescuing was sitting, tied to a wooden chair, a gag in their mouth.

“Sorry,” Aziraphale muttered, as he was forced into his own chair, and tied up. He gasped as one demon held their torch to the ground, and a ring of hellfire burned around him.

Oh sh-fu-bug-dear.

He was trapped.

“Time to _alert our superiors,_ ” said one demon, mockingly. The other smirked, and carefully bit into the priest’s forearm. They squawked, but seemed determined not to cry. The demon caught the blood in a bowl, and then began whispering into it. After a minute, he tipped the blood onto the floor. “He’s coming now.”

Aziraphale felt his stomach drop. Who was _he_? Would it be Hastur or Ligur, maybe, who spent the most time on Earth apart from Crowley, although it still wasn’t that much. Or would it be someone higher up? He was the first angel to be captured since the Fall, which would be pretty big.

He heard a car pull up outside, probably at the house across the lane, and a few birds chirp. This was followed by the front door flying open, and footsteps in the hall. _He_ then flung the door into the main room open, and the demons there dropped to the floor in deep bows.

Oh dear. They were in a lot more trouble than he’d originally guessed. He glanced up at the demon. 

His face wasn’t visible. He was wearing a long black cloak, and when he moved to withdraw a long, obsidian sword from underneath, Aziraphale caught a glimpse of the clothes underneath. All black. Even the buttons. 

_He_ held the obsidian sword out, resting it just off Aziraphale’s throat. _He_ had a terrifying, but indescribable voice, sounding like every monster in the world was talking through him.

Nightmares incarnate.

Aziraphale turned back to the priest, and saw that they had fainted. He turned back to the demon.

“Who is this?” _he_ asked.

One demon raised his head slightly. “An angel, my lord. We lured him here with the priest as bait, and captured him. He could have some useful information.”

“Yes, he could,” mused the demon, “He could. Yes. I shall take him back myself. But first-”

He reached out, and one black-gloved hand touched Aziraphale on the head. He cringed away, expecting excruciating pain, but instead it felt like something warm ran over his body, and an invisible sludge had coated his skin. 

The demon lowered his sword, and turned away. Aziraphale leaned forwards and pulled at his bonds in a last-ditch attempt to get free, but whatever _he_ had done blocked his movement. _He_ strode over to his fellow demons.

“Rise,” _he_ ordered.

The demons stood, and _he_ clapped one of them on the back.

“Commendations for you both,” he said.

The demons smiled foolishly.

Suddenly, _he_ shoved the demon into his crony, and used that momentum to slam them both into the wall. In one smooth movement, _he_ twisted and shoved the obsidian sword through them both, ramming it through them so hard it became embedded in the wall. _He_ let go of the sword, leaving them hanging a foot off the ground, still impaled on the sword.

While Aziraphale’s initial reaction had been shock and gratitude, he realised that _he_ probably wanted to take all the credit for his capture. So when _he_ reached for his bound wrist, Aziraphale shrunk back, preparing himself for a beating before getting dragged to Hell.

Instead, _he_ easily pulled the ropes off Aziraphale’s wrists. _He_ waved a hand, and the hellfire died down. Then _he_ moved over and untied the still-unconscious priest. Aziraphale didn’t dare move, in case the demon decided to hurt the priest. 

_He_ turned back to Aziraphale. “Are you going to undo your feet or not?”

“Um, right, sorry, yes.” He fumbled with the knots, and eventually they came undone.

“Come on, then. Hurry,” said the demon.

“Sorry. My lord?” said Aziraphale, hesitantly.

Of all the reactions Aziraphale expected, the demon snorting, and then bursting into a fit of laughter was not it.

“Sorry!” Aziraphale exclaimed, glancing back at the priest, “My lady? Sir? Ma’am? M-?”

“No, stop,” _he_ said, laughs finally subsiding. He flicked back his hood, revealing a man with dark glasses, and a dark crown-circlet thing on top of his auburn hair.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, praying he was right.

“Yes, you idiot, it’s me. Who did you think it was?” Crowley asked, confused.

“Some demon who wanted to torture me for information on Heaven. And take all of the credit for my capture,” he added, nodding at demons’ bodies.

Crowley looked at him incredulously. “You can be a bit thick, sometimes, angel, but I don’t blame you. Now there’s a chance that the house is being watched, and after what happened at the Bastille, I don’t think we should go out looking like friends.”

Aziraphale furrowed his brow in confusion. “Wha-?”

But Crowley flipped his hood back up, grabbed the priest, brought them back to consciousness, then made some discarded rope tie itself around their wrists. He did the same with Aziraphale, with a muttered “Sorry.”

“He’s on our side. He’s sneaking us out,” Aziraphale explained to the priest. They nodded, although they kept eyeing Crowley apprehensively.

Crowley then tied Aziraphale’s wrists to the priest’s, and then drew an obsidian dagger in each hand, and pressed it into each of their backs.

“Walk forwards,” he ordered, demeanour shifting completely. The priest and Aziraphale, their wrists tied to each other, walked clumsily forwards, out of the house, and, following Crowley’s orders, across the street and into the backseat of the Bentley. The moment the car doors snapped shut, Crowley tinted the windows right down. He untied them from each other, but glancing outside cautiously, muttered “better keep them on.”

The seatbelts snapped down, and Crowley sped away, all the way to his flat. He escorted them in at knife-point, miraculously not running into anyone else. 

The door closed behind them, and Crowley untied their hands, pulled off his cloak. 

“Take a seat,” he said, gesturing to his lounges.

The priest sat down, shaking.

“What’s your name?” Crowley asked.

“Alex,” they responded quietly.

“Well, Alex,” said Crowley, “I could wipe your memory, but I feel you deserve an explanation. However, if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I _will_ kill you. Understand?”

Alex nodded.

“You were kidnapped by demons as bait for Aziraphale here who’s an angel. They wanted information. Yes, the whole God, demons, angels, Bible thing, that’s all true. Any questions?”

“So you two, you’re angels?” Alex asked.

Crowley let out a laugh rather like the one after Aziraphale called him ‘my lord’.

Aziraphale sighed. “I’m an angel, a Principality,” he explained, “And Crowley’s a demon. But he’s good (Crowley glared at him) -er than most of the demons. But he can be quite evil sometimes!” he added hastily.

“I was the Serpent of Eden,” said Crowley. “I _created_ sin.”

Alex gasped. “No!”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale wearily, “And I was the guardian who failed to stop him getting in.”

“You don’t seem like a typical angel,” Alex said, looking at Aziraphale, “And you, (she turned to Crowley) don’t seem all that evil.”

“Ngk,” said Crowley, and snapped his fingers. Alex vanished. “I sent them home,” he said to Aziraphale, who had been looking at him angrily.

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale tentatively, “What did you mean about the Bastille? When you said ‘after what happened at the Bastille’? Did Hell see us?”

Crowley’s silence was answer enough.

“They didn’t hurt you, did they? Crowley? They didn’t hurt you because you saved me, did they?

Crowley absent-mindedly rubbed a spot on his chest.

“Is that why you were acting so differently today? And I didn’t know you were a lord.”

Crowley stared at the floor, determinedly not meeting Aziraphale’s gaze.

“What happened at the Bastille?” Aziraphale pressed.

“My lot don’t send rude notes,” he said.

Then he vanished.


	6. Day 6: Please...

“GET IT OUT” | NO MORE | “STOP, PLEASE”

When Crowley was captured by Heaven, he didn't realise Aziraphale was taken too. After the angels beat him up in cell, they dragged him to a torture chamber, where to his surprise, instead of chaining him to the torture table, they chained him (with quite long chains, too) to the wall next to it.

This did nothing to make him feel better, however. And he discovered he was right to be scared when Aziraphale was brought in and chained to the table.

"Aziraphale!" he yelled, but Sandalphon smacked Aziraphale across the face, so Crowley settled for straining his own chains as much as possible.

Ignoring him, Sandalphon got to work on Aziraphale. He began by slicing open Aziraphale's forearm, taking hold of two bones, and twisting them.

Aziraphale screamed until his voice broke, but Sandalphon kept going. Crowley kept straining, but didn't dare speak. Until Aziraphale lost consciousness.

"Please stop," Crowley whispered.

"Stop what?" Sandalphon asked, sticking a dagger into Aziraphale's arm.

"Take it out. Please. Stop hurting him."

"And why should I do that?" Sandalphon sneered.

"Please, Sandalphon, stop hurting him. He's an angel like you."

Sandalphon grabbed Crowley and threw him against the wall, chains clanking. "Don't you dare compare him to me!" he hissed.

Crowley nodded. "You've had your fun with him. Take me, do it to me instead."

Sandalphon looked at him suspiciously, but then seemed to decide there was no harm in torturing Crowley. "Stay here," he grunted, leaving the cell.

Crowley pulled as hard as he could on his chains, but to no avail. He was ten excruciating centimetres from touching Aziraphale.

Sandalphon came back, and marched Crowley out of the room, to another table. Just before Sandalphon lowered the knife, Crowley whispered, "Please leave Zira alone."

Aziraphale was woken by Crowley's screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was super short but oh well


	7. Day 7: I've Got You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set about 1 000 years after Crowley and Aziraphale first meet

### SUPPORT | CARRYING | ENEMY TO CARETAKER

How embarrassing. He was the first demon _ever_ to be captured by the angels. Mind you, in the one thousand years since the Fall, he was the only one who'd really gone near angels.

Still embarrassing, though. And was about to get even more so. Two angels were dragging him through Heaven, into what he remembered to be a very busy room.

He remembered correctly. The angels deposited him on the floor, and then wandered off to speak with Gabriel. Crowley, using this opportunity to escape, made it about two metres before an angel grabbed him.

Gabriel.

"Little Crawly," Gabriel murmured. He grabbed Crowley's wrists and shackles grew around them, binding his hands together. Gabriel hoisted them up high, chaining him from some unknown point on the ceiling.

Gabriel's voice grew suddenly loud.

"This demon was captured by two of our angels today. He must be punished. Bear witness."

Crowley noticed Gabriel didn't mention what he was being punished _for,_ but none of the angels seemed to. 

Gabriel pulled an iron rod out of nowhere, and then began hitting Crowley with it.

His eyes began to water as Gabriel hit him around the head, and he wheezed as Gabriel moved to his stomach. As Gabriel began shattering his legs, he finally screamed, but Gabriel kept going, moving to his arms, back and chest.

When Crowley thought he might finally discorporate, a loud gong sounded.

Michael's voice came through some sort of PA system. "All units to HQ. Emergency. I repeat, all units to HQ."

Crowley was immediately forgotten, as all the angels sprinted off to HQ. Except for one, who dropped back from the back of the pack.

He came over to Crowley. "What did you do?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"Why was Gabriel punishing you? What did you do?" the angel pressed.

"Nothing. I swear. Promise. You know what I mean."

"You sure?" he asked, and Crowley nodded.

The angel reached up and pulled Crowley's shackles from the chain that was keeping his above his head.

Crowley immediately slumped to the floor, letting out a whimper as he landed on his broken legs.

"Oops! Sorry, my dear. I'll just miracle it away." The angel reached out and grabbed Crowley's leg, but instead of healing, large blisters formed.

"Okay, I can't heal you. Just let me help you get out of here."

"Say, don't I know you?" Crowley asked, not really listening. 

"Um, we met at the wall. At Eden. I'm Aziraphale," said Aziraphale. He coughed. "Now, those shackles are warded against miracles, so I can't do anything about them, I'm sorry, and I can't heal your legs, so I'll have to carry you."

Aziraphale carefully picked Crowley up, trying to only touch the least-broken bits, and Crowley fought back a wince.

Aziraphale staggered down several corridors, and a large flight of stairs, until he reached the portal back to Earth.

A mule appeared, and he carefully lifted Crowley onto it.

"It'll take you wherever you want to go," Aziraphale said, "I'd best get back before I'm missed. Good luck!"

"Thank you," Crowley called, and with difficulty, steered the mule through the portal.

Once he vanished, Aziraphale ran up the stairs and started forming an alibi. He'd be in enough trouble for making the diversion and full-on meeting, but helping a demon escape? They'd never forgive him…


	8. Day 8: Where Did Everybody Go?

###  "DON'T SAY GOODBYE" | ABANDONED | ISOLATION

Crowley had never been much of a peoply person (well, demon), but after two months locked in a tiny iron box, not knowing where Aziraphale was and if he was okay, he was starting to go mad.

The isolation was getting to him.

“Aziraphale!” he yelled, clawing at the hatch. “Aziraphale! Az-!”

His head began to swim, and he keeled over, hitting his head on the wall.

* * *

A mere metre away, in his own box, Aziraphale fared no better. Although when he was first locked in, he’d spent days hammering on the hatch. He’d tried miracles, too, but the box was warded against them. 

It had been a month before he stopped screaming for Crowley. And now, he sat on the floor, catatonic. If Crowley hadn’t come by now, he reasoned, then he probably wouldn’t at all.

His reasoning proved correct when six months later, Aziraphale and Crowley were finally let out of their isolation.

Aziraphale collapsed immediately onto the floor, staring vacantly across the room. Crowley, on the other hand, stumbled across the room, and held Aziraphale tightly, cradling him in his arms. 

He looked up at their captors.

“Hastur,” he snarled, “I should have known.”

“Satan himself ordered it, Crawly. As a test. And maybe you were not able to hear anything, but we heard all your shouting for each other. You have betrayed us. And you are sentenced to extinction, for that. The angel we’ll keep. He’ll give us a lot of fun.”

Ligur pulled Aziraphale out of Crowley’s tight grip, and clamped obsidian shackles around his wrists. He lifted Aziraphale up, and carried him across the room to Hastur. Crowley tried to fight back, but four other demons held him down.

Hastur laughed.

“Stop worrying about your angel, Crawly, worry about yourself.”

The demons dragged a struggling Crowley over to a black hole in the ground. Crowley glanced nervously over the edge, to see a pool of holy water gleaming below. They shoved Crowley towards the pool, but he managed to dig his heels in enough to stop himself going in.

“Hey guys, let’s think about this for a second,” Crowley said, pushing against them. “You don’t get anything out of this. Think of all the souls I’ve got for Hell? That I can’t get if you extinct me. And Heaven will come for Aziraphale, won’t they, Zira?”

“Yeahhhhh,” Aziraphale slurred, “Don’t do it.”

The demons relaxed their grip, and Crowley stumbled away from the pool.

“What are you doing?” Hastur yelled, “We’re not letting him off. Push him in!”

The demons turned back to Crowley, but they were too late. He pushed one into another, and like a line of dominos, fell straight into the pool, screaming.

“Crawly!” Hastur yelled, “Get in that pool RIGHT NOW, or your angel buddy dies!” Hastur pulled an obsidian sword out, and held it to Aziraphale’s throat. Aziraphale didn’t react.

“No,” whispered Crowley, “Please, Hastur. Let him go.”

Hellfire burst along Hastur’s sword, burning Aziraphale’s neck. He crawled away, tears streaming down his face, but Hastur pinned him to the floor with a foot, letting the fire spread over his body.

Aziraphale twisted against him but no avail.

Crowley ran at Hastur, slamming him into a wall. He caught the sword as it fell from Hastur's hand, and drove it through his skull.

Aziraphale groaned. Crowley ran over to him, assessing his burns. 

"Let's try this, he mumbled, pulling off his jacket. He ran over to the pool and dropped his jacket in. After letting it soak up as much holy water as possible, he fished it back out and carried it back over to Aziraphale, ignoring the blisters appearing on his own hands. 

Crowley trickled some water over Aziraphale's face, then helped him pull the jacket on. Aziraphale sighed in relief as the water soothed his burns.

Crowley helped him stand, and together, they staggered out of the room, down a few mercifully empty corridors, and out of Hell.

He could have jumped for joy, seeing all the people around him, being out of that tiny, cramped box, but with Aziraphale leaning heavily on him, he instead miracled them back to the bookshop.

He left Aziraphale on the lounge, burns slowly healing, to go back to Hell, for some revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't like the ending but oh well


	9. Day 9: For The Greater Good

###  "TAKE ME INSTEAD" | "RUN!" | RITUAL SACRIFICE

“I’ve got a delivery of books coming in on Tuesday, and it’ll take most of the day to sort them all out, but maybe we could go to the Ritz for dinner?” Aziraphale suggested. He was sitting with Crowley on the lounge in the back room of his bookshop, sharing a cup of tea.

“I could always come and help,” Crowley offered, stirring his tea.

“Oh, thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale said. Crowley smiled. 

“Have you heard from Adam?” Crowley asked suddenly.

Aziraphale shook his head.

WHAM!

“What was that?” Crowley asked, jumping to his feet.

Ten angels, all wearing bright silver armour, entered the bookshop, their swords drawn.

“Get him,” one yelled, and all the angels ran at Aziraphale, grabbing him. Crowley pulled a dagger out of his pocket and the angels, too focused on Aziraphale, didn’t notice him until he stabbed one in the back. Then they turned on him.

Aziraphale managed to shake free of the other angels, but seemed reluctant to attack them. He eventually settled for knocking them out with hard blows to the head from a book. The five remaining angels managed to grab both of them, and threw them to the ground, pushing their faces into the carpet.

“Don’t move,” one of them said.

“Reinforcements are here, sir,” said another. The first angel nodded. A dozen angels, with similar armour, entered the bookshop and formed a circle around them. Crowley heard them lean over Aziraphale, and panicked. He lashed out, kicking one in the face, allowing Aziraphale to wriggle out from under the angel pinning him. He managed to punch one in the face, and Crowley started wildly kicking at the circle. Aziraphale broke through, heading, Crowley knew, for the sword he kept under the desk.

“Aziraphale!” he yelled, “Run for it! It’s too late now!”

He heard Aziraphale scrabbling around, angels peeling off to recapture him. Crowley managed to raise his head and meet the leader of the angels' eyes.

"Irael!" Crowley shouted, "Leave Aziraphale alone! Take me instead!"

Irael stared at Crowley. "You would sacrifice yourself for an angel?"

"Yes! Please, just let him go."

Irael nodded at the other angels. Two of them shoved Aziraphale into a chair, and chained one of his wrists to the wall. 

"Crowley! No!" Aziraphale screamed, pulling the chain to its limit.

The angels locked heavy manacles around Crowley's wrists, then forced him to his feet. They tied a thick cloth over his eyes, and then Crowley felt a cool knife rest against his throat.

"Move," Irael growled. Crowley stumbled forward, the angels tightly gripping his upper arms.

He heard Aziraphale yell something, and twisted his head back, but before he could do anything, he was marched out of the bookshop and up to Heaven.


	10. Day 10: They Look So Pretty When They Bleed

###  BLOOD LOSS | INTERNAL BLEEDING | TRAIL OF BLOOD

Hanging from the ceiling in a dirty shed, his arms tied uncomfortably above his head, Crowley regretted ever liking humans. And this one was worse than usual. The man who’d kidnapped him (who’d been proud to announce his name was Harrison Carter, famed monster hunter), had sadly known he was a demon, and seemed to know exactly what he was doing. Crowley glanced down at the engraved demon trap on the stone floor below him. There was no way he’d be able to escape with it there. He could only hope that Carter would send him off to do his bidding, and he could escape. 

Sadly, as Carter revealed, he was out of luck on that front.

“So, demon,” said Carter, striding into the shed, “I’ve been experimenting on some of your fellows. And I’ve created quite a niche market for demon blood. Useful for spells, among other things.”

Crowley pulled against the rope that suspended him from the crossbeams. “Let me go!” he yelled.

Carter strolled over and shoved a bit of scrap fabric into Crowley’s mouth, which was caked with dirt and blood and what looked like previous prisoners’ spit. Crowley’s stomach turned.

Carter pulled a knife from his back pocket, and carefully made several incisions along Crowley’s body along the major arteries. Crowley hissed in pain. Then, with a horrid squelching noise, Carter pushed plastic tubes into Crowley’s cuts. Blood began to trickle into the tubes, which were connected to large steel vats.

_ How much blood does he think I’ve got?  _ Crowley wondered, now trying to stay as still as possible, to lessen the bloodflow. A discorporation was not what he needed right now.

However, his stillness soon proved to be pointless when Carter flipped a switch, and the vats began to make churning noises. There seemed to be some kind of vacuum, as Crowley’s blood began to flow out faster and faster. Within minutes, his skin had gone a sickly white, and he sagged against his binds, unconscious.

Carter, deciding Crowley was not in a position to make a run for it, ambled back up to the house to collect some smaller vials. When he returned to the shed, he froze on the threshold, filled with morbid ecstasy as he watched Crowley’s blood ooze into the vats. 

He walked up close to Crowley, and ran his thumb over a deathly-white cheek. “Not much more now,” he murmured.

Those were the last words he ever uttered.

A silver sword plunged straight through his chest, piercing his heart. He dropped to the floor, dead.

“My dear!” Aziraphale cried, running over to Crowley, leaving his sword in Carter’s chest. He quickly untied Crowley’s hands, and he collapsed on the floor, blood splattering everywhere.

Aziraphale pulled the tubes out, and as best he could, managed to cover most of the cuts up. He pulled the disgusting gag out of Crowley’s mouth, threw him over his shoulder, and staggered out of the shed, blood dripping behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost did an alternate prompt for this day...


	11. Day 11: Psych 101

###  DEFIANCE | STRUGGLING | CRYING

When he helped Crowley stop Armageddon, Aziraphale knew there was a chance he’d fall. However, when he and Crowley escaped their extinction sentences, he’d thought they were safe. For ten lovely years the two had shared a cottage on the South Downs, Aziraphale occasionally going out to help people in need, often accompanied by Crowley.

It was too good to last, he supposed. He could just be grateful that when Heaven came for him, Crowley wasn’t home. At least he’d be safe, even if he thought Aziraphale had abandoned him.

Aziraphale’s shackled feet dragged along the floor as two angels half-carried him into what looked to be a silver platform, overlooking a cliff at the edge of Heaven. The angels dumped him unceremoniously on the floor, chaining his ankles to an anchor.

Aziraphale glanced around, trying to work out what was going on. His gaze fell upon a black blob on the floor several metres away.

“What’s that?” he asked, looking up at the angels.

One of them snorted. “You should know.” The angel strode over to the blob, and kicked it, hard.

The blob grunted, and rolled over. Aziraphale realised it must be a person. A person covered in burns and brands, with mangled bones, some sticking out of their skin, neat slices and jagged cuts. Blood was still running out of some of them, joining the redness caking the rest of their body.

“Who is that?” Aziraphale asked, with a horrible feeling he knew who it was.

“Your beloved demon Crawly, of course,” said Gabriel, striding onto the platform. “We managed to kidnap him as he headed back to your little cottage. Of course, time is of no consequence in Heaven, so he’s been with us for what? A year? (Gabriel glanced at Sandalphon, who’d followed him over. Sandalphon nodded.) Anyway, that’s not why we’re here today. Today is for your punishment. We just thought Crawly here would like a bit of time out of his cell.”

“Let him go,” Aziraphale said, tears springing to his eyes.

Gabriel shook his head. “You should be more worried about yourself, Aziraphale. It’s time for your Fall.”

Crowley sat up with a start, accompanied by a scream of pain. “No.”

Gabriel sneered at Crowley. “You coped just fine, demon. I see no reason why Aziraphale wouldn’t. And the Fall seems a just punishment for going against God’s rule and the Ineffable Plan.”

“Don’t touch him!” Crowley yelled, trying to jump at Gabriel. Chains Aziraphale hadn’t noticed with all the blood and ripped clothing stopped Crowley short, although he continued to pull. Aziraphale stared at the huge bloodstain left behind on the floor. How could anyone possibly bleed so much and not discorporate?

“It’s okay, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, trying to ignore how his voice shook. “I’ll survive. I’ll even go willingly,” he added, looking at Gabriel, “If you let Crowley go first. And swear to God you’ll never touch him again.”

“No way!” Crowley snarled, “Let  _ him  _ go! He did nothing! I was just manipulating him!”

Gabriel looked at Crowley, then came to a decision. “Extinct the demon. I’m sure that will cause Aziraphale just as much pain as the Fall would.”

“No!” Aziraphale screamed, but it was too late. Sandalphon forced Crowley into a kneeling position, and Gabriel raised a basin of holy water above him. Crowley stared defiantly up at Gabriel. Aziraphale stood and began struggling against his own chains, but two angels held him back.

“It’s okay, Azi-” Crowley started to say, but was cut off by Sandalphon shoving a gag into his mouth.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale yelled.

Gabriel put the basin down.

“I’ve changed my mind,” he said.

He picked Aziraphale up and carried him over to the edge of the cliff, then chucked him off, through a sea of brimstone hellfire, and down to Hell.

Crowley screamed and struggled, but there was nothing he could do as Aziraphale Fell.

Aziraphale’s wings burned away, rather than charring as Crowley’s had, and he felt everything holy leave him, and he was imbued with brimstone and hellfire. To seal it in, he landed in a deep pit of boiling sulphur. He fell through that, and into Hell.

“We’ve got another one!” Dagon yelled.

Aziraphale crawled away from the sulphur, his darkened eyes adjusting. He ran for the exit, although only having been in Hell once before, during the War, he got lost quickly. Dagon dragged him back, pushed him into a chair, and began what sounded like a well-rehearsed speech.

“You’re a demon now. You Fell. Your job now is to sin, and to encourage others to sin. You will have to fill a monthly quota of evil. From now on, you owe allegiance to Hell, and are not to fraternise with angels. Understand?”

Aziraphale nodded meekly. “May I leave now?”

“Certainly not!” Dagon exclaimed, looking affronted. “You will be assigned to a sector first, and a reporting chain. Then you will receive your instructions.”

Aziraphale nodded again. Dagon glared at him, then returned to watching the sulphur pit. Aziraphale stood, and began to search for the admin department.

* * *

Back in Heaven, Crowley had been dragged back to the angels’ celebration, celebrating the Fall of the traitor Aziraphale. He’d been chained up in his usual place, at the bottom of the dais, where angels would occasionally kick him, or pelt him with food. 

He knew that Aziraphale would have finished Falling by now, and had his ‘welcome speech’. Crowley also knew that Aziraphale would never get over being a demon. And worst, the pain from the Fall did not set in until much later, when the victim was least expecting it.

An angel (the seventeenth angel this feast, not that he was counting) kicked Crowley in the stomach as he passed, causing him to double over, coughing, chains rattling.

He just hoped Heaven would leave Aziraphale alone now. There was nothing worse they could do to him, now they’d made him Fall.


	12. Day 12: I Think I've Broken Something

###  BROKEN DOWN | BROKEN BONES | BROKEN TRUST

After almost 6 000 years of sort-of friendship, Crowley liked to think that Aziraphale would at least warn him of danger, such as angels visiting. Especially since Crowley had saved him so many times.

So nothing could describe his shock when four angels burst into Aziraphale’s bookshop, carrying flaming swords, yelling “Demon!” He was even more shocked when Aziraphale didn’t even talk to them, just slammed Crowley against the wall, and pinned him there.

“Aziraphale? What’s going on?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale knocked his head hard against the wall, and shoved a gag in his mouth.

“Shut up, demon,” he growled.

Crowley’s eyes widened.

“We’ll take him from here,” one of the other angels said, walking up to Crowley.

“It’s fine,” said Aziraphale, “I can interrogate him.”

“With all due respect, Aziraphale, we are trained torturers. You are not. We’ll deal with it,” the angel reasoned.

“Yes b-but I-I know him better! I can get inside his mind, that sort of thing,” Aziraphale pointed out. “ N-not that you can’t!” he added hastily.

“You may sit in on our interrogations,” the angel decided. Aziraphale opened his mouth to argue, but seemed to think better of it.

The angel forced Crowley to his knees, facing the wall, and chained his hands behind his back. A second angel pulled his sunglasses away, and replaced them with a blindfold.

“The carrier’s coming now,” the second angel, who Crowley had named Dollophead, said.

“Excellent,” said the first angel. Crowley decided to call him Clotpole.

There was a clanking noise near the door, but Crowley didn't bother to turn his head. The angels pulled him to his feet and marched him into what seemed like an iron version of an old-fashioned prison cart. 

He heard the angels talk to each other, and then the cart lurched forwards. Crowley wriggled over to where he thought the door was, hoping they'd left it open, but it was shut. He reached up to pull his blindfold away, but someone smacked his hand away.

After what felt like a couple of hours, but could have been days for all he knew, the cart finally came to a stop. Two angels grabbed him and hauled him out of the cart. 

They walked for a while, twisting and turning down corridors, up and down stairs (Crowley fell down several times as he couldn't see where he was going), and into a tiny cell, with a chair in the centre that they chained Crowley to.

The angels fixed shackles around his ankles, too, and then the interrogation began. Despite the claim that they were trained in interrogation, Dollophead and Clotpole didn't seem very good at it.

"What were you doing with Aziraphale?" Dollophead asked.

Crowley said nothing. He was still gagged.

"Oops!" Dollophead exclaimed, and hastily removed it.

"Now answer the question," Clotpole ordered.

Crowley stayed silent.

Dollophead was obviously not happy, as he backhanded Crowley across the face.

"A bit of pain will sort you out," Dollophead said, and Crowley heard the whine of a knife being drawn.

"Is this necessary?" Aziraphale asked suddenly. "Maybe the looming threat of pain will get him to talk."

"Maybe," said Dollophead, grabbing Crowley's arm. Crowley tensed, as Dollophead began cutting a row of slices down Crowley's forearm.

_ OwOwOwOwOw,  _ Crowley thought, determined not to give any sign of pain. He'd faced worse, after all.

Dollophead seemed to notice he was having no effect, because he said, "Let's take a break. Let him stew here on his own for a while."

Clotpole grunted in agreement, and they left.

The moment the cell door snapped shut, Aziraphale darted over to Crowley and whispered in his ear, "I'm getting you out."

"Didn't have to help them get me in here," Crowley muttered.

"I'm so sorry, Crowley," Aziraphale whispered, then shoved Crowley's gag back in. He undid the chains binding Crowley to the chair, and then pulled him to his feet. Aziraphale carefully laid his sword against Crowley's throat, pressing Crowley tightly against his chest, strode forward, Crowley stumbling a little. 

They passed the guards outside with no difficulty, although Aziraphale was stopped by Gabriel just outside the dungeon.

"Where are you taking it?" Gabriel asked, looking disgusted.

"I'm transferring the prisoner to cell 132," Aziraphale said confidently. 

Gabriel smirked.

Aziraphale marched Crowley through the main room of Heaven, cringing internally as many of the angels jeered at Crowley. He eventually made it through the throng, and managed to get Crowley halfway down the stairs before he fell, tripping over his chains, breaking a leg as he landed.

Aziraphale almost fell down himself in his rush to get to Crowley's side. Unable to directly heal him, Aziraphale miracled a cast on Crowley's leg, to last until he escaped.

Aziraphale helped Crowley to his feet, and helped him the last few floors out of Heaven. 

The moment they left Heaven, Crowley collapsed on the ground. 

Aziraphale pushed a letter into one hand, a set of keys in the other, then ran off with a whispered "I'll head them off your trail."

Alone, Crowley pulled off his blindfold and out his gag, then used the keys to unlock his manacles. 

Then he ran for it. Ran until he could miracle himself back to his flat, where he slumped on the lounge and opened Aziraphale's letter.

_ Dear Crowley,  _

_ I panicked at the bookshop. I was trying to avoid them taking you back to Heaven, but they did, and they hurt you.  _ I  _ hurt you.  _

_ I'm so, so sorry. _

_ I can't possibly make it up to you, and I suppose you won't want to see me again. _

_ I don't blame you. _

_ Aziraphale _

Crowley huffed, scrunched up the letter and chucked it into the hellfire that burst into flame in his fireplace.

He didn't want to see Aziraphale for a very long time.


End file.
